Warrior of My Heart
by chrissytingting
Summary: Taken by a powerful group of warriors in the midst of a war in her home, Hermione finds herself unmistakably fascinated by their lord: Draco Malfoy. AU. Regency Era. Hiatus.
1. Gone By Fire

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter and I am not J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made out of this fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Notes: **Hello, fanfiction readers! So yes, this is my third fanfiction on this site, and I hope (like usual) that this story will be successful and a novel-length. I'm feeling ridiculously reckless by trying to balance three stories, but let's say that I'm just impulsive like that! Just a side note: this fanfiction is completely AU and does _not _follow any plans of the seven books. There _will _be similarities (characters, magic, etc.) but the plot line is completely different!

I hope you all enjoy this story. This is the first time I am going to venture out _way _beyond J.K. Rowling's plot line for Harry Potter. If you have read my two other fanfictions _Time of our Destiny _(a Tomione) and _Beautiful Scars _(a Dramione), you'd know that my writing style is slightly darker than some other writers. If you haven't… be sure that check out my other fanfictions as well!

**Please review if you want me to continue! **

**Warrior of My Heart**

_By Chrissytingting_

A soft warm breeze caressed her rosy cheeks, and the silvery light created a pearly glow on her skin. The lower part of her high cheekbones was under shadow, and her intelligent brown eyes glimmered with intelligence.

"I don't understand, Sir Lupin," she murmured softly. Her voice was a melodic cadence: smooth and perfect in every way. "Tell me again about the story of the Night Mockers."

Sir Remus Lupin had light brown hair that was streaked in grey, and his amber eyes were now focused on her intently; his scars were highlighted in the fluorescent light. The sun was smothered by layers and layers of clouds and could only radiate a grayish glow. "Night Mockers are powerful warriors, Lady Hermione, that have magic beyond all abilities. They fight for what they believe is right, and a strict rule is what they live by."

Hermione's perfect eyebrows knit together. "Yes… but if they were so powerful, why do they not overpower the other kingdoms to rule?"

"Justice, I'd say. However, no one can respond with solid answer because they are a very closed group of people."

Lady Hermione studied her teacher for a moment, cocking her head to one side reflexively. Over the past years, Mother had been absolutely flustered with the number of complaints from Hermione about her teachers. Teacher after teacher after teacher they had switched, and none of them, according to Hermione, had an open intellect that she would approve of.

After firing the twenty-seventh teacher, she had decided to look about the peasants of their small community. Hermione had found Remus Lupin: a werewolf who lived a hard and strenuous life. Though her parents strongly disapproved of her choice of a werewolf, she had moved forward with it, and she found this person a teacher that she may keep.

The Grangers lived among the four joint noble families of the ancient land. Hermione, the only female of her two brothers, was well known for her beauty among their town. However, every time some suitor went up to her and asked for her hand in marriage, she waved them away.

Hermione placed a delicate hand on the smooth-pearl railing of the balcony. The topic of the Night Mockers had peaked her interest for the last couple of days, endlessly asking Sir Lupin for more stories about them. How could they be so respected while so many think that they are just a legend?

"My Lady?"

Hermione turned to her teacher. "Sir, thank you for the lesson. You may be dismissed," she said gratefully, giving him an appreciative smile before turning around to stare at the scenery once again. She heard a soft click of the door as Sir Lupin backed out of the balcony, and was left her alone with her thoughts.

She did not know why, but today seemed like a special day. Despite the lack of sunlight and the low rumble of thunderclouds in the distance, she felt a strange sense of anticipation.

Was the anticipation fear or excitement?

She did not know.

"Lady Hermione?" a young girl's voice sounded from behind her. Hermione turned around to see a timid little girl with straight brown hair and blue grey-flecked eyes.

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "Yes?"

"Uh… um… Sir Weasley and Lord Potter wants to… meet you," the little girl stumbled over her words, blushing a deep tomato red in embarrassment. She stared at a spot on the ground, refusing to meet the beautiful Lady's eyes.

"What's your name, little girl?" Hermione asked sweetly, placing a comforting arm on the little girl.

The girl looked up, biting her lip. "M-Miranda Bell."

_Ah, so this is Katie Bell's little sister. _She could see the various similarities in between the two sisters: the sleek hair and cheekbones. "Well, Miranda. Thank you for calling me. Tell your parents that Miss Hermione says good job, okay?"

Miranda's lips split into a grin, dimples appearing on her cheeks. "Oh, no! Anytime, Lady Granger!"

"Do call me Hermione, Lady Granger is my Mother's name," Hermione called after the running girl, who had slipped out of the double doors and bolted down the hallway.

"Hermione."

Two men walked into the room, both muscular, both tall, and both with imposing, formidable figures. After years of training on the towns' Quidditch teams, they have grown tremendously since their younger ages.

Ron Weasley: a head full of flaming red hair, his warm blue eyes melting girls' hearts, while Harry Potter: messy and permanently tussled jet-black hair with mischievous green eyes that entices with one look.

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione shouted in the most unladylike way while launching herself at the two for a large bear hug. Only with these two friends would she ever slip away from her platonic façade.

Both friends had been travelling in the wilderness on an excavation project in the last couple of weeks. While Ron was not a 'Lord' yet (Arthur Weasley had not decided his retirement yet), Harry had to deal with the stress of being a Lord upon himself because of his parents' early deaths.

"How have you been?" Hermione demanded, releasing them from her attack. "Are you both okay? Did you get hurt?"

"Calm down, woman!" Harry laughed; his green eyes alight with happiness. "It was great, we found so many ancient artifacts! Ah, and Sir Macmillan wants to ask you to help him decipher the runes…"

Hermione began to smile at that.

Ron cut in after Harry. "Well, I just got a couple of scratches and such, but _Harry _pulled a sudden heroic act and saved Pansy Parkinson from falling into a ditch and they stared at each other for––"

"Ron!" Harry interrupted, glaring at him.

"It's true," his friend answered, smirking knowingly. "And that beautiful limerick that––"

"_Ron!"_

Harry was beet red now, and was nearly as flushed as Ron's hair. Hermione and Ron laughed together, taunting him about Pansy and commenting on what a great couple they would be.

A sudden flash of blinding light and then roar of thunder made Hermione yelp and nearly fall over, her hand immediately flying to her wand. Her brown eyes flickered towards the windows, and saw how the sky had darkened considerably: dark clouds rolled overhead, flashes of lightening lighting the sky and booms of thunder accompanying it.

A flicker of blue and green caught her eye, and, ignoring Harry and Ron's questions, she crept over to the window, and what she saw made her gasp.

Bright streaks of light were crisscrossing over the forest and clearing in front of the Granger Estate. Spells were being shouted, both dark ones and simple hexes, as purples, blues, greens, and reds shot across the meadow.

At her horrified gasp, Ron and Harry had joined her at the window, and immediately, their wands were out, hissing plans at each other.

"Ron, you help Hermione. _I'll _go fight…"

"No, _you _help Hermione. _I'll _go fight!"

Hermione, having recovered from her shock, whirled around to face them. "Why can't I fight as well?" she demanded, sparks nearly flying out of her eyes. "I am _perfectly _capable––"

"You are a _girl, _Hermione," Harry cut in harshly, though in his eyes, it showed his care for her. "Hermione, you know that it is my duty to make sure that you are safe and protected. It is the _men's _duties to protect the women. _Women don't fight. _I'm not saying that you aren't capable, Hermione!"

Ron grabbed her elbow, tugging her towards the door. "Come on, Hermione! We have to run now!"

"I won't be a coward and––"

Her sentence was abruptly cut off with a small shriek when Ron lifted her off of the ground, carrying her bridal style towards the door. With a sharp kick, the door flew open, and Ron and Harry scurried down the grand hallways of her home.

"Harry! Take Hermione and run!"

"No! _You _take Hermione and… _Stupefy!" _Harry shouted at a person who was trying to get inside the Estate. "It's the people from overseas… there's been tension for quite a long time… bound to be some fight… _Impedimenta!" _

Hermione felt herself get put down. Ron turned around to face her, his blue eyes demanding and imploring at the same time. "Please, Hermione… I need to fight! Run that way through the forest," Ron pointed towards a hollow of trees, "and hide behind the third maple tree… we'll find you when it's safe! _Please, _Hermione… _promise me!" _

Hermione stared at him, her heart torn in between the brave and courageous side of her personality and her friendship. "I…"

"_Promise me!" _

"I promise, Ron," Hermione whispered, looking up at him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I promise. Now _you _promise that both you and Harry will come back, unharmed!"

"I promise I'll do my best," Ron revised, "and I'm sure Harry will too..."

Hermione nodded. It was good enough, she supposed. With a quick peck on her cheek and a one-armed hug, Ron ran off, shouting curses and flicking his wand in impressive patterns.

The rain was beginning to pour now, splattering on the grass and making the dirt into mud. Hermione's hair was plastered to her forehead and her clothes were dripping wet as she pulled up her dress and ran towards the hollow of the trees: she was not one to break promises. With her silky robin-blue dress hiked up to her shins, she forced her legs to move. A wand was gripped in one hand as if a lifeline.

The mud made unpleasant squishing noises underneath her feet, and her fashion-designed high heels were definitely not made for running. But she did her best, running through the trees and looking for the one that Ron had directed her to.

Her guard, she remembered, had pounded the emergency drills into her mind the moment she turned fourteen. Which routes to take out of the castle and which spells to use were all scribbled onto parchment and memorized until it was ironed into her mind.

However, Ron Weasley was supposed to stay by her. Ronald Weasley was supposed to run with her.

Always playing with heroics (Harry must have corrupted Ron's character), the two men always went with their gut feelings, which is most notably 'nobility'. They saved any person, from the noble families to a mere peasant, even if it meant putting their lives on the hook. For Ron to run with Hermione and not fight in the dangerous war was against his instinct and character. He knew that Hermione was perfectly capable of surviving on her own.

Hermione stumbled over a root, catching herself with less than her usual grace. Her soaked brown curls tumbled forward, spitting rainwater into her face and making her blink spastically to clear her vision. Eyelashes tipped with water that sparkled like diamonds in the night, she pushed herself further, wondering where was this 'maple tree' that Ron claimed of.

The debilitating wind howled like a beast that wanted to be set free from its prison. It pulled at the delicate tendrils of her hair and wrapped its greedy fingers around her petite body, tugging at her mercilessly.

With a rapidly beating heart and adrenaline-filled bloodstream, Hermione shrieked sharply as invisible ropes suddenly leapt up from the ground and wrapped around her like snake, snapping in place and pushing her flush against the rough and damp bark. She had blindly hissed a spell in the process, and a bright blue light spun across the clearing, slicing a tree cleanly in half. With a roar and a boom, the tree tumbled down, landing on the forest ground with a satisfying _crash. _

Hermione shivered, water tracing down from her hairline to her nose and dripping to the ground. Her eyes stared longingly at her wand, which lay innocently and still on the floor.

"What's this?" a man growled, and he emerged from the trees, golden eyes narrowed and black hair spiked as if bristling. Another man joined him, drifting out of the darkness of the forest and, with surprising grace, stepping out and cocking his head to stare at her.

"Royalty. A girl."

"Undoubtedly," the first man snorted.

This time, a slender woman joined their group, looking sly yet wild at the same time. With straight, brown hair, her eyes (brown with a sudden burst of green near the pupil), narrowed into mere slits, she strongly resembled a cat.

"She has interrupted our fight––"

"Nonsense, Daphne, I ––" another woman, younger than the other, with flaming red hair and light brown eyes, countered her, looking much more caring and compassionate. She reminded her strongly of Ron Weasley…

"Move aside! Move aside!" a group of men hollered. Another four men appeared in the circle, moving aside to show a dark-skinned man who seemed to be the leader.

His ebony skin and black obsidian eyes shown clearly in the light as he studied her. There was a certain charm and aura around him that made him… beautiful, both in the heart and soul. "What is your name, child?"

"I am no child, sir," Hermione answered, feeling slightly indignant while fear coursed in her bloodstream. "My name is Hermione Jean Granger, heiress of the noble family of Granger. If you would kindly let me go…"

There was muffled laughter in the gathering as well as doubtful snorts.

"Do you know who we are?" the man questioned, ignoring the snickers behind him.

Hermione bit her lip, gnawing on it as she stared at them. No, she had never met anyone like them. They were all strong and strange, emanating a power that dominated anyone around them. She shook her head slowly.

"We––"

"You should know better than to go around saying our name recklessly, Blaise," another voice interrupted his. Hermione watched, wide-eyed, as the man named 'Blaise' immediately incline his head in respect. The others followed this movement, all murmuring greetings.

The newcomer came out of the shadows, and almost immediately, Hermione wanted to fall onto her knees and kiss the ground he walked on. With silvery eyes and a crown of white-blond hair, she had never seen anyone so pale nor so magnificent.

He walked towards her, silent as the wind, and lightly touched her cheek. She shivered as his cold fingers came in contact with her skin, blinking up at him with big brown eyes.

Under his scrutinizing gaze, she had never felt so vulnerable. She felt as if he could see straight through her soul and read her mind and feel her heartbeat with that one look.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said, tasting her name on his tongue. "_Lady _Hermione."

Hermione stared at him, refusing to look away, despite her instincts. She felt as if a piece of prey that was being pursued by a predator, cornered and tied up, only waiting for the dragon to tear her apart.

"Why did you not fight?" the man questioned, his hand dropping to his side while his soft and cool breath washed over her skin. "You want to."

Lifting her chin slightly, she answered: "I promised my friend. I keep my promises, and despite how I would like to fight, I will honor those who have trusted me. Do not get me wrong, I am no coward, and I do not believe in such 'female naivety'." Vaguely surprised at how the words had rolled off of her tongue without her stumbling over some word, she peered at him, assessing his reaction.

He fixed his haunting silver eyes on her, tilting his head slightly to the left. She stared at this prominent cheekbones and lips that seemed to be carved out of stone before quickly looking up again at his eyes.

"I know. Only a few of the various women in this world dare to fight," the man said quietly. The people behind him all shifted uneasily, glancing at each other ever so often.

"Master, we must go, we––"

"I am aware, Theo. Let us be off… and Blaise, bring Hermione with you."

Hermione's eyes widened in panic at this final statement. _'Bring Hermione with you'? _She was not some toy to be brought around as if some object! Bristling indignantly, she prepared herself to run off at a moments notice as she felt Blaise ready to release her from the binds.

Hermione was not a stupid person. In fact, she was known for her intellect. With just one look, she knew that these people were powerful. Strangers they may be, but merciful they looked not. But she wasn't going to be thrown around.

She sensed a change of atmosphere as the leader of their group's form began to shift and flicker as if a projected image. Silver began to rise at his feet, swirling around his body and reflecting the minimal moonlight into diamonds and rainbows. They looked like shards of glass, throwing off colors and glimmering in the dark.

He disappeared.

Was this a different form of Apparition? She could not understand as she stared at the spot that he had disappeared.

The other people in the small hollow of trees all left, disappearing softly, unlike the sharp crack in Apparition.

"I'd suggest you don't run," a bass voice suddenly was shockingly close to her ear.

Hermione jerked against the chain in surprise, craning her neck around to stare at the Blaise. Her eyes strained in the darkness, and she bit her lip as her neck locked, cracked, and then felt the odd sensation leave her neck.

"Draco rarely gives these small pardons. The last person who unfortunately stumbled upon us while we were saving a small village had to be killed," Blaise hissed. "And the largest mercy until today that he gave was a simple _'obliviate'." _

"Why?" Hermione whispered to keep her voice from cracking out of fear. She barely noticed when he released her from the binds and grabbed her wrists.

She could imagine him give her a small yet saddened smile, but his voice harsh when he answered her. "Do you know who we are? How would it be to have people tracking our every movement? How do we apply as much trust within ourselves with so much contact from the outside word? How do we sustain from power?"

Hermione stared at him blankly.

He began muttering something under his breath, something that she deciphered as: "I suppose I can tell her, since Master let her come with us and all…"

"We are _Night Mockers." _

A blank look answered his declaration.

He searched her face for some sign of a reaction.

Nope.

Nada.

Zilch.

Hermione blinked once, and the blank look was suddenly cleared. "But Night Mockers are just… are just a _legend. _They fight for _justice. _Killing people that stumble upon them aren't… _just." _

Blaise laughed sharply. "You think it's easy to live a life of a Night Mocker? Draco would get a kick out of that."

"Who's Draco?"

Now it was Blaise's turn to stare at her blankly, as if she was absolutely insane. "He's our leader, our master, and our lord. He's my best friend."

"That… the one with the pale hair?"

Blaise nodded slowly. "Yeah. He's been through hell for the most of his life… parents were seriously screwed up…"

Without warning, his hand suddenly descended on her shoulder, and she could barely register how the ground suddenly disappeared beneath her and the place that she called home was ripped away in that moment.

**Author's Notes: **Okay, here's the first chapter! Remember to review if you want me to continue! Constructive criticism and praises are welcomed!


	2. One Chance

**Disclaimer: **No profit is being made from this story. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Notes: **Here is chapter 2! I'm working on getting more into this story, so please tell me how I could improve! Thank you for all of your lovely reviews, and I hope you continue to do so. **Please review, **because it gives me motivation to keep on writing!

_Reviewers: Bobthestar, Crimson Angel 437, LooLoo Lightwood, mydirt09, nikkyherms, Shyrazie, Rozu, vswimming12, Dkwolves, Wicked Sapphira _

Shout-out to _vswimming12: _Yay, I have a fan! (: Thank you so much for bearing with me for so long! Love you!

Shout-out to _Wicked Sapphira: _Thank you! I try my best to be original. In this story, Hogwarts may be mentioned once in a while, but so far, I haven't planned for Hogwarts to actually _be _a setting of an event… That may be subject to change (: Voldemort probably is going to be playing a big part in this story, though I can't be fore sure, because I might change my mind. As for my name: "tingting" isn't from the band "The Ting Tings", but it actually is my nickname (:

O

Hermione's head was spinning by the time they reappeared in their destination. She held on to Blaise's hand tightly to keep herself from toppling over, though she did not miss the look of amusement flash across his perfect face before he recomposed himself.

"Welcome to Ice Cavern," Blaise rumbled, his bass voice vibrating and resonating in the air. It echoed from wall to wall, reflecting and seemingly filled with power and dominance. If Hermione didn't know better, she'd suppose that she was the leader of the Night Mockers.

She stared at the place that they had landed. It was beyond anything that she had ever seen before. Every inch sparkled with beauty and dazzled with elegance, glimmering even in the night.

They were standing on a cliff-face, an extension of a platform to the cave that stood before them. The ground was a strange rock that sparkled silver and shimmered like mini stars. Beyond where they stood were acres and acres of land and water, water on the right and land on the left. The water reflected the blanket of stars that were like eyes in the obsidian night. A forest stood, proud and dignified and mysterious, trees of various heights stretching towards the sky.

All around the platform were ice splinters and what looked like swords pointing upwards ominously. They looked like crystal as they reflected the moon's light, each one perfectly sharp and deadly.

In front of Hermione and Blaise was a cave.

It wasn't one of those small, mini camping sites in any Muggle forest, but it was a massive hideout, tunneling down and up so that it was grand enough for a king to live in. Torches were lit on the walls and jewels lined the sides, brilliant colors streaking across the scene.

Hermione could only stare in awe.

"Amazing how we've never been discovered, eh?" Blaise murmured, standing back and admiring his home. "Several wards and defense mechanisms have been put in place to oppose any threat. This place has been hidden for centuries… Ever since the beginnings of the Malfoi family."

"Malfoi?"

Blaise shrugged, his eyes glinting in the night. "They used to be known as the grand family of Malfoi, but there was a stretch of history that is vaguely unknown that signifies that the name 'Malfoi' was changed to 'Malfoy'."

"Are you both going to simply sit there and ogle or are you going to come in?" a rough but feminine voice snapped at them harshly, interrupting their admiring of the structure. The same woman that Hermione had seen before was leaning against the wall, her strange brown-with-a-burst-of-green eyes eerily peering at them like a cat's.

"Daphne," Blaise smirked, waving her off. "You know how amazing this place is. I still remember when you first joined us, you know. Your eyes were wide and you said that––"

"Blaise Zabini…" Daphne narrowed her eyes dangerously, daring him to keep on going.

He dared. "You asked if you were in heaven," he chortled, raising a dark eyebrow in challenge.

It surprised Hermione that Zabini actually was quite easy-going once they were back in their haven. Her first impression of him was that he was haughty and proud, but there seemed to be other attributes to his personality that she hadn't seen in the first place.

On the other hand, Daphne scared her shitless. Daphne had acted outright rough and bordering on rudeness for the two times she had actually seen her. Daphne, Hermione knew, was not one who would become friends with her.

Daphne shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, clenching her fists slightly like a little girls'. "Oh, you'll pay for that."

The words were joking, but someone, her tone was much more serious and threatening than if someone like Blaise said it. Hermione instinctively moved away from the wild woman slightly, only a tidbit, but Daphne's eyes immediately snapped towards her slight movement, her lips twitching into some emotion that she could not detect.

"Come on, it's time to rest. We've got training tomorrow," Daphne growled, the same challenging look in her eyes that would've made anyone fear for their life. She whirled around and, with agility, she disappeared into the tunnel, not waiting for them to follow.

Blaise just chuckled under his breath, walking towards the entrance and beckoning Hermione to follow. "Daphne is one of the tougher ones around here. With only two girls in our group overall, she really reinforces the idea that she is as strong and able as any man."

"Is she… she looked like she was going to kill you," Hermione muttered, hoping that Zabini knew what he was doing.

"Ah… I'll just have to keep my wand under my pillow tonight. But then again, all of us already do that." His tone was casual, as if the entire matter didn't really affect him. Blaise took a sharp turn to another large cavern, filled with jewels and treasures.

Hermione stared, wide-eyed, at the various precious riches that were spilled, almost haphazardly, over chests. Many glinting artifacts were strung over torches and poured over polished cherry tables.

"The Malfoy fortune," Blaise gestured around the room. "Draco's rather possessive about everything that is his, and he knows if you even steal one coin. Trust me: I would know." His eyes glinted with knowledge, and he seemed to be reliving a memory that seemed amusing to him now. However, when Hermione peered closer at him, she found just a slight flicker of something in his eyes: fear.

Was Draco someone that she should fear?

Blaise took another left and lifted the shimmering gold fabric to reveal a room, jerking his head towards it to reassure Hermione that she could enter.

Hermione obliged, peeking her head through timidly before she actually stepped inside, blinking as she took in the sight before her. It was a relatively simple room, but even so, it was luxurious. The bed was made of soft furs and down feathers, and the rug was ductile and smoother than a wolf's pelt.

"Merlin," Hermione whispered, lightly trailing her fingers along the soft furs. She could imagine the grin on Blaise's face even without looking at him.

"None of us ever get this type of luxury," Blaise's sighed. "We're built to sleep on hard rocks and eat pine needles, despite the fact that we could live on opulence for a lifetime."

Hermione paused, biting her lip slightly as her amber eyes suddenly lighted with realization. "Wait… Daphne… she called you 'Zabini'," she whispered, her voice gaining volume as she spoke. "Zabini was one of the noble families of the north, and the Zabini Matriarch was known for changing husbands like a woman would change clothes. She was one of the few dominant woman in the world."

Zabini's face turned bitter as soon as the words 'Zabini Matriarch' left Hermione's lips. "My mother," he said with a harsh smile, "was a cruel, merciless woman. She killed every husband she had ever had to get them out of her way. The Zabini family was rich, of course. So why did I leave? I was _sent _away by my mother to marry a girl."

Eyebrows knit together in confusion; Hermione stared at him with a curious expression. "So how did you join the Night Mockers?"

"Turns out that the girls' parents knew of my mother's bad reputation and thought that it got to me as well," he answered disgustedly, as if the mere thought of turning out like his mother pained him. "They loved their daughter more than the desire for the money, so they planned an attack on me and threw me out into the streets. I was desperate, bloody, starving, and vicious. Draco found me later, and took me under his wing."

"So you were friends before that?"

"Oh, yeah. My mother was afraid of us conversing, but I snuck to our meetings behind her back. She never caught us. After my sudden disappearance, she put on a bloody act of crying that lasted no more than three days and then went on with life. She had another boy with some man." Blaise's dark obsidian eyes displayed no emotion, and in a sense, Hermione figured that deep inside, he was hurt by his mother's actions. No matter how used of this treatment you could be, it still hurt when your mother backstabbed you.

Blaise straightened up, a slight look of surprise on his face (probably for opening up to her in the first place) flashing in his eyes before he recomposed himself. "Well, I'll leave you here. Good night." He turned around and left.

Hermione watched the fabric in the doorway swish from side to side, trying to recollect where in her life she was.

She found out just a couple of things.

1. She was taken by the Night Mockers, whom she had thought were just myths.

2. She wasn't killed, much to Zabini's surprise.

3. She was brought to their hideout, which would either end in:

a.) They wanted to kill her silently, or b.) They wanted her to join.

Why, Hermione wondered, would they choose the latter?

Their leader, Draco Malfoy, fascinated her more than he should. He wasn't as flawless as Blaise was, but there was something wild, something untamed and free-spirited, about him. His own beauty was almost… inhuman, in such a way that no man could ever compare. Those silver eyes never betrayed any more emotion than he wanted them to; all the same, they enthralled her. They flickered with light and darkness, and sparkled with hope and defeat, all rolled into one.

The Lord seemed to dominate and rule with more power than she had ever seen. Why did he feel compelled to give her mercy if he never had before?

"Miss Hermione?" a young woman's voice sounded from the doorway, and under the fabric stepped in the red-haired female who had reminded her so much of Ronald.

Hermione's heart clenched at the mere thought of Ronald. Was he okay? Was he hurt? What if they lost? What if they won and they couldn't find her?

"I… Greetings," Hermione gave her a shy smile, trying to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. "Do take a seat?"

The woman nodded, her eyes softening as sat down. Her eyes, Hermione saw, were filled with kindness. There were so many things you could tell about a person with their eyes.

"I'm Ginevra," the woman greeted, twirling a lock of flaming red hair in her pale fingers. "My friends call me Ginny. You can call me that if you'd like."

Hermione nodded and gave her another genuine smile. "Thank you, Ginny. You can just call me Hermione," she answered. Her mind was working double-time, trying to figure out why Ginny was here.

"I heard that you ruled in the Noble Houses?"

Her nod was confirmative.

"Then I'd assume that you knew the family of Weasley," Ginny plowed on, her eyes suddenly brighter than before. They were a mixture of hope and dread at the same time.

Hermione's jaw dropped ever so slightly, making a slight 'pop' noise. "I… yes, the Weasleys were very close to my family," she whispered, fearing that if she spoke louder, her voice would tremble and shake.

She should've went with her instincts and fought in the war anyways, despite her promise to Ron and Harry. Then, she wouldn't be in this mysterious place, where her life was on a thread.

Hermione admitted that it hadn't been especially terrifying. She was, after all, known for her bravery. Spending years with Harry and Ron, both known for heroics, must've grown on her.

This place was beautiful. It was glorious in every way: a raw beauty that contained none of the artificial components as caking on make-up on a girl's face did. Somehow, the cavern was far from a place that was simply filled with jewels and vanities. Among the treasures were swords that must hold historic value, and there were probably many other rooms meant for the 'training' that Daphne was talking about. As powerful Night Mockers, they have a duty to be formidable and noble. How could they establish justice with no power to control or balance?

Ginny sighed, abruptly pulling Hermione out of her thoughts.

"I am a Weasley."

"I'm sorry… Excuse me?"

Ginny closed her eyes, concealing the emotions that were filling her eyes before. "I was the youngest of my family, and the only female among my siblings." Her voice was strangely wistful, as if regretting something in the past.

Hermione gasped sharply. "You were the stolen baby girl! Mother had told me so much about that story, worrying over me every day in fear that I would be kidnapped…"

"Yes," Ginny nodded slowly, brushing her figures through her hair. "I was kidnapped by a man with a hood. He was horrid, but that was all I could remember. I have no recollection of what he looked like, but Blaise saved me from him and brought me here. It was too risky to bring me back to my family because that would put my family in danger of the man."

"So… were you all saved by Draco?" Hermione questioned, noticing a slight pattern in these stories.

Ginny nodded again, tapping her fingers on her temple. "Draco wouldn't take us against our choice. We were all saved, and blessed, as a matter of fact. Being with the Night Mockers is harsh and hard, and sometimes, it's a bad thing, but we all are living, and that's what counts."

Hermione blinked. "But… _I _was taken against my choice. I could've just gone home and fought for my land."

"Too risky, as said before. Would you rather be taken here or killed?"

The young Lady of the Granger household sighed, brushing some stray curls out of her face. "I suppose I'd rather be here."

Ginny lightly touched her elbow, as if a sign of companionship and friendship. "Draco must've seen something in you to not kill you. I'm sure that he has a reason. He is a mysterious person, but insane he is not. He's quite intelligent, really."

Silence met her words, and they sat there, wallowing in their own thoughts. Finally, as the seconds ticked away, Ginny stood up, smoothing out her cloak. "Well, I must go now. Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Ginny."

Ginny gave her a kind smile before leaving the room silently, leaving no trace or evidence of her presence.

Hermione's eyes zeroed in on the nightgown that lay on the fur bed, and she leaned over and plucked it up, yawning as she stared at the skimpy piece of fabric.

Perhaps she would be allowed to leave soon, Hermione concluded. It'd be better to get on their good side, or else they might suddenly decide to kill me and roast me over their campfire.

She sighed in contentment as she curled up on the fur bed. It formed around her body perfectly, and she was literally in heaven, encased in the softness of the blankets.

Hermione missed her parents already. It was strange, as she had been away from her home for months without feeling as bittersweet and lonely as now. Perhaps it was because there was always the possibility that she would never see them again…

Her parents would send out the best rescuers and searchers from their land. With stacks of galleons in their vault, they could afford the best and would spend any amount of money to find their daughter.

If only this place wasn't that unable to be found.

What about Harry? What about Ron? The two men swirled into her thoughts once again, making her squeeze her eyes shut and sigh in longing. She felt so alone… so solitary. As a woman, she rarely ever got the chance to be alone. This world with the Night Mockers was so different; so… intriguing.

Hermione turned on her side, burying her head in the soft pillows. She knew that she was being unreasonable: after all, it had only been a couple of hours or so since her capture. The people here treated her with relative respect and did not harm her in any way. There could be much worse of a situation.

Being a brave and intelligent girl, she knew that she should devise a way to run. However, something nagged at her at the back of her mind. One part of the reason as to 'why not' was because she knew that she could run and she could hide, but the Night Mockers would eventually find her.

The second part was her curiosity.

What if she learned the way of life in the Night Mockers? Here, people with the most impressive and formidable powers lived. Here, people that were so unbelievable that they were considered as myths fought. How could she give up such an opportunity?

Curiosity killed the cat.

Well, Hermione thought, she wasn't a cat. She was a fierce… person. A woman fighting for freedom.

She knew that it was illogical and out of character for her to reach such an impulsive level. Usually, it was Harry and Ron that she would have to keep logical and calm. This time, Hermione felt the inexplicable desire to just take life as if flows.

After all, after she went home, she would need to be cast off and wedded. Hermione had searched years and years for a man that she could love and marry, but none of them appealed to her. Just like her pickiness concerning her teacher, she could not find one person who could keep her interest for more than a couple of minutes.

Excluding Harry and Ron, of course.

She loved Harry and Ron, she knew she did, but they were only brothers to her. Harry loved Pansy Parkinson, from what it sounded like, and Ron would soon find a girl of his own. Hermione knew that she wouldn't live a blessed life of a married woman with either one of them, just as one never married their sibling.

Her amber eyes suddenly flickered to the dim silhouette of a figure standing in front of her room, just a light shadow over the golden fabric of the makeshift door. She tensed immediately, a reflex reaction put into habit by her Defense and Protection advisor, and grabbed for her wand, gaining nothing but air. Panic filled her when she realized that they had taken her wand, and she was left with no such defenses of magic.

"… Hermione?" it was a smooth, bass voice, a strangely authoritive but purely platonic voice that she immediately recognized.

Hermione bit her lip, clenching a blanket in her hand. "I… Come in?"

The fabric rippled like waves of water, flickering in the candlelight from outside, before it was completely brushed aside to reveal the same man that had fascinated her so.

Draco Malfoy.

"I apologize for interrupting your sleep," he said slowly, as if finding these words strange and out of place. His hands were clasped behind his back, and silver eyes glowed in the light.

Hermione felt fear when he actually appeared in the doorway. It was understandable, to say the least. He was a tall figure, with a muscular build, and could probably snap her neck with a flick of his wrist. He had a certain aura surrounding him, a darker and much more mysterious kind of atmosphere, that both enticed and frightened her.

She immediately drew back slightly and bent her head forward humbling, trying to calm her beating heart. "Lord Malfoy," she said, concentrating on using all of her power to make it sound as respectable as possible. "Th-Thank you, for presenting me such generous accommodations."

Hermione held her breath, hardly daring to breathe. She had stuttered! How utterly unladylike! It was one of the most crucial rules to speaking with veneration towards another of a higher position: you mustn't stutter. How… lowly a person must seem to not be properly educated in the laws of speech!

She cautiously raised her head, daring herself to look at him. Her hands shook with fear as she watched him, trying to decipher his reaction.

Lord Malfoy's mouth was slightly open, and for a second, she saw a flash of surprise cross his eyes before emotion completely disappeared altogether.

"I'm glad that you like your room," he answered, flawlessly polite and showing no sign of discomposure. "I would only like to ask you of your future plans."

This time was Hermione's turn to be surprised. "I… wasn't aware that I had a choice." _Stupid, stupid! Here he is, kindly offering you a future at home, and all you can come up with 'oh, you should've locked me up instead'? Idiot! _

Malfoy nodded slowly, the corner of his lip twitching. "This situation is most… different from any I have dealt with before. Because of my choice to not kill you, I find no way to simply let you die once again and let my effort become nothing but smoke and a memory."

There was some silence, both people's minds filled with thoughts and dilemmas, before Hermione spoke up. "I love my family. I love my mother, my father, and my friends and brothers. However, I… I am aware that this isn't possible."

"We don't trust many people, and I can't trust you to keep this secret," he answered bluntly, almost harshly.

Hermione flinched visibly, understandably perplexed at his sudden change of attitude. "I… understand. Perhaps… I… I really find this place… fascinating. Maybe I could… stay here and prove to you my trustworthiness."

He turned to stare at her with fathomless grey eyes. "I will give you that chance."

**Author's Notes: **So here it is! I hope you all like this chapter, and **please** **review and give me your feedback! **


	3. Silver Sparks

**Disclaimer: **I don't own 'Harry Potter'.

**Author's Notes: **Happy Holidays, everyone! I'm still working this story out (I _kind of _rushed into it too quickly), and I'm hoping to get this story more set… Starting a story was never my cup of tea. Anyhow, **PLEASE REVIEW! **

_Reviewers: sNAPpyDraGon, Shyrazie, JillianUnleashed, vswimming12, LilyRousseau, Destineyrose18, Wicked Sapphira, deator11, Kadin Aubrey, mekom, Bobthestar, starlight-x-A-x, 3 wishes, ItsNatalie, Ventiquattro, Nero Basterdino _

Shout-out to _Ventiquattro: _I'm sorry if the fur bed really offended you! I love animals as well, but the reason I used 'fur' instead of 'silk' is because it gives the Night Mockers a more 'out-in-the-wild' impression.

Shout-out to _Bobthestar: _Thank you! I usually skim my stories before I post them… I rarely add too much stuff. I miss a few mistakes or so though (:

Shout-out to _Wicked Sapphira: _It's definitely snowing here (: There were 18 inches of snow!

O

Morning arrived, bringing temporary peace and serenity. Hermione woke up to the soft bed, sinking into the silky furs. It was relatively silent in her room: other than the steady trickling if water, there was no other sound that was audible. Relaxed and comfortable, she yawned and stretched, wanting to stay in this bed for hours and never get up.

She finally pushed herself up (although reluctantly) after another ten minutes passed, admitting to herself that lying in blissful oblivion was not productive. After poking her nose in some closets that were carved into the smooth stones, she found only one dress that was actually appropriate for her title. The dress was beautiful and it shimmered and moved like water. It was a metallic silver color and shifted like ripples. Small jewels dotted the neckline, which plunged dangerously low, as well as the hem, which lightly swished against the ground.

Hermione slipped on the silk dress quickly, though she also had to wear a corset. Goodness, how she hated corsets! They were tight and uncomfortable and only meant for beauty purposes. Simply said, they seemed utterly unnecessary. However, Hermione tied the corset as tight as usual because she wanted to show respect.

Daintily and silently, Hermione slipped out of her room.

Once she left her room, the feeling of absolute peace and serenity left as if she had just shed a skin. She heard the clanging of swords and banging of metal from one direction, and though it was far, she knew that it was within the cave. Reaching for her bravery, Hermione went towards the noise, eyes wide with doe-like anticipation. The tunnels were dark and eerie, and it was barely lit by the torches that lined the halls. Glinting gold treasure caught her eyes, and at the same time, they scared her, making her fear that a spell would fly up and shoot her.

Finally, the small tunnel opened up to another large cave. The walls here were a pale grey, and the atmosphere of this 'room' was free. The stone was raw and several places had rocks jutting out, the sharp point ominous and threatening.

Hermione's eyes fell on the two battling figures. Both men were shirtless and wore black slacks. One was Blaise Zabini; his obsidian eyes were ambitious and determined. She could see sweat beading on his forehead, and his dark skin seemed to glow slightly as he fought. Muscles rolled at his arms, and the way he wielded his sword made him fierce and strong.

The other figure was Draco Malfoy.

His face was placid and neutral, and his silver eyes displayed no emotion. With a shorter sword, one would think that he was at an immense disadvantage, but he fought with the same strength and much more agility than Blaise. The impression of his swordsmanship was more like a snake's: his sword sliced in the air elegantly, creating a graceful arch, and he fought with speed and velocity.

With another flick of his sword, Draco linked the blade through the hilt of Blaise's weapon, twisting it out of his hands. The sword landed with a loud _clang _on the stone floor.

None of the other warriors standing around seemed to be surprised.

"Good," Draco said curtly to his opponent, giving him one, short nod. "Go eat."

"Thank you, Master," Blaise answered, dipping his head slightly before backing away. Once he reached another archway that began another tunnel, he turned around and loped away.

Draco suddenly whipped around and gave Hermione a piercing grey stare. His eyes were unreadable and unable to be deciphered as he assessed her.

"Why do you wear such a formal dress?" he finally inquired, pursing his pale lips together.

Hermione stared at him in surprise. "My Lord, it is deemed inappropriate to wear anything else." Her amber eyes quickly flickered to the other two woman warriors: Daphne, who was wearing a look of disdain on her face, was wearing a simple tan tank top and a pair of brown shorts that reached her knees. Ginny, the kinder of the two, was wearing a dirtied blouse that hung loose on her shoulders and a black skirt that reached her thighs. Underneath, she wore black leggings.

Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. How inappropriate! A tank top was only clothing deemed appropriate for sleeping or internal wear while a lady was never to show her ankles to anyone of the opposite sex other than her lover. Furthermore, the man must be married to the woman.

"Inappropriate?" Draco raised his blonde eyebrows. "I am not aware of those rules of all of your separate kingdoms. However, I will respect those rules. On the other hand, while you are a guest here, I expect for you to follow our tradition and please change into a more suitable clothing for today and hereon after." He folded his arms across his bare chest.

Blushing furiously, Hermione nodded and quickly retreated into the tunnel that she had previously went through. She scuttled through the tunnel at amazing speeds, holding the hem of the dress up and stepping over rogue stones that would cause her to trip.

She knew nothing of their culture, she knew. How many more differences were there? Hermione blushed once again, thinking of their ridiculous outfits. How embarrassing!

Once she finally arrived at her room, she slipped the silky silver dress off and gratefully untied the corset, throwing them onto her bed. Hermione scourged the cabinets for the so-called more 'suitable clothing' and finally settled for a knee-length white dress that was layered with translucent petal-shaped material. She slipped on a pair of leggings under it, still feeling odd. Her ankles felt strangely bare and her arms felt utterly naked. This was what she would wear for a plainly ladies' event in the summers back at home.

_At home. _How she missed the warm, grand manor and the embrace of her mother! She missed her father, who would smile brightly and used to swing her around when she was little. She missed her two brothers, who were always up to no good.

Brushing away a stray tear, Hermione took a deep breath to attempt to gain some self-confidence before walking on the same way as she had before, memorizing everything that she saw.

When she arrived back at the Training Cavern, Daphne and Draco were fencing. Hermione stood there silently, watching as Daphne displayed the grace and viciousness of a panther. They all seemed so… wild, as if like an animal. Daphne, like Blaise, showed persistence and perseverance. Her eyes were wide and her teeth were clenched as she fought with all of her strength, and you could plainly see that she _wanted _to beat him.

However, also like Blaise, she failed to win against Draco, the master of them all.

"Your arrogance is overwhelming yourself," Draco commented as he took one step away from her. "You may rest."

Daphne narrowed her strange multi-colored eyes at him before kicking her sword up and catching it in her hand expertly and stalking away.

Draco turned to face Hermione slowly this time, and now, there were no other warriors present. He nodded when he saw her attire. "Better."

They went on to stare at each other in awkward silence, a strange tension sizzling in the air, before Draco spoke up.

"If you are going to be here for any amount of time, you might as well learn to fight."

Hermione's eyes widened. In her home, she wasn't allowed to learn anything that had to do with physical fighting. She was only taught the arts of magic, and while Harry and Ron enthusiastically mastered sword fighting and other fighting skills, she watched from the sidelines, as all of the other woman did.

"Me?" she squeaked. Her voice trembled from both fear and excitement.

Draco nodded, holding out a sword to her. Slowly, as if wondering what would happen if she simply _touched _the weapon, Hermione grasped it in her small hands, testing the weight and staring at it in wonder.

"Use your instincts," Draco instructed. He pulled his wand out of the wand holster that was belted around his waist and waved it at her lazily, not even uttering a word, and then sticking it back into the dark-leather pouch.

Hermione felt her curious amber eyes widen even more, making her look incredibly naïve and young. Only the talented people of her kingdom could actually perform magic wordlessly with ease. While other people have attempted it and completed it on occasion, they couldn't use it in daily life without sweating like some crazed person.

"I put a shield on you so that you wouldn't be hurt by my sword's edge," Draco explained, misinterpreting shocked expression as something else. "Are you ready?"

Hermione tested the weight of the weapon once again, entranced with the jewels on the hilt momentarily, before she nodded. She watched as he lunged at her so quickly that he was just a blur.

_Use your instincts, _he had said.

Hermione immediately raised her sword up and was surprised when his sword came crashing down on hers, making her fall on her knees from the impact. The bones in her arms felt as if they had been rattled like a maraca.

Gasping slightly at the unpredictable lash of pain that suddenly laced up her bones, Hermione dropped her sword, gripping her arm and wincing once her hand closed around the sore spot of her muscle.

Draco waited silently from the side, not offering any words of apology or sympathy. His silver eyes were simply calculating, as if trying to plot something.

"Come here," he said softly, slipping his sword into the sheath.

Hermione nodded and got up, finished with nursing her arm. She felt nervousness tingle up her spine as she inched towards him, gulping. He stepped behind her and placed two arms around her, gripping the arm that held the sword.

She could feel his muscles through her thin dress, and Hermione couldn't help but to feel strangely secure with his arms around her. It wasn't appropriate for a man who wore no upper clothing and held no personal relationship with her to hold her in such a way! However, she couldn't find the willpower to tell him to move.

"I'm going to teach you a series of moves," his said in her ear, making her shiver slightly when she felt his cool breath tickle her sensitive neck. "One." He lifted her arm up and sliced it horizontally across the air smoothly, the speed consistent and the sword not trembling in anyway. It seemed to obey him as a servant obeyed a master, bending and kissing the hem of his robes.

"Two." He slammed her arm downwards, a whistling noise sounding as the sword carved downward, parting air as it went.

"Three." He lifted the sword diagonally to the upper-left, turning the sword so that the sharp edge of the blade always went the way that the sword was going.

"Four." Draco suddenly twisted and jutted the hilt at the imaginary opponent.

Draco let go of her and stepped away. "Now try it yourself, and count the numbers out loud."

Hermione felt cold and vulnerable without his presence around her, and the sword was shaky once again as she lifted it upwards.

"One," she whispered, and she jerkily swept the sword sideways. "Two," and she jammed it to the ground. "Three," she lifted it at a 45 degree angle from the ground, "and four." She turned it and stabbed the hilt at the air. The blade of the sword dangled dangerously close to herself, a glowing blue shield sizzling slightly and preventing it from hitting her body.

"You need to feel your sword in your hand," Draco said, as if reciting a passage from a book. His silver eyes seemed to penetrate her heart and soul as he continued. "_Feel_ the sword humming in your hand. The most popular mistake with sword fighting is when the swordsman does not tie the relationship of himself/herself with the weapon. The sword is _alive. _Let its energy flow through you, and let your energy draw towards it."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. She was never a religious person, but the strange concept of accepting an inanimate object as alive enthralled her. _Dance with it, not force it to bend to your will. _Hermione lifted the sword and cut it through the air, finishing the next three steps without counting and without pause.

"Better," Draco murmured when she finished. "We'll practice more later. Go eat breakfast with the others." He pointed towards another dark tunnel.

"Th-Thank you, My Lord," Hermione whispered, withdrawing from the Training Room quickly and scurrying towards the directed place.

She didn't know how she should feel. Hermione had just learned something that would've never been given to her as a something to learn at home. She had felt safe in a man's arms, something that she had never felt unless it was a close friend or relative.

Hermione had never been entranced with another person at home. Other than her sibling love for Harry and Ron and her respect for her teacher, no other man had caught her attention. Suitors never failed to bore her on her dates. Hermione was lucky that her parents loved her so: any other parent would've blindly forced her to marry some man of high status. Hermione believed in true love and marrying _for _love, and she never found anyone who met her standards.

Draco was an enigma, and that alone made her curious. Though she could say that she most certainly did not have affections for the blonde, she was still interested in him, something that she had not felt for a long time. However, Hermione held doubts. Was he a bloodthirsty leader who lusted after power? Was he just waiting for the right moment to strike and then decide to rule the world? Was he enticed by the Dark Arts? With so much power, he must have felt some draw to ruling the world.

A faint buzzing of chatter became audible as Hermione neared the next cave. She heard Blaise chuckling slightly under his breath and Ginny animatedly saying something. On the other hand, Daphne was completely silent, and she could almost feel the heat of her seething glare, despite the fact that she couldn't see the girl.

"… And then I jabbed the hilt straight into the beast's brains! It dented the skull terribly, and blood oozed out…" Ginny exaggerated, spreading her arms wide and making a stabbing movement. Theodore Nott was snorting in the corner, throwing his head back and gulping down a cup of water in three seconds.

"Goodness, Ginny," Blaise spoke, giving her a teasing smirk. "Why don't you go be a storyteller instead? You can get pampered." He was sitting against the wall next to the fiery redhead, lounging lazily as he chewed his breakfast.

Hermione arrived silently, trying to slink in without notice. However, this was doomed to fail as soon as Ginny saw her.

"Hermione!" Ginny's sharp eyes immediately snapped towards her, giving her a genuine smile and waving her over. Hermione sighed inwardly, not wanting to be center of attention, but knowing that it was no use to fight against it. She felt a friendship with Ginny, and she knew that they could be very close friends. Ginny was someone that she liked.

"Here, eat some," she pushed a glass plate over to her. The glass was a slightly turquoise hue, white vein lines lacing throw the plate as if the same pattern on a leaf. Brightly colored fruits from all over the world was scattered all over the dish: vibrant, blood red and yellow-green apples, brilliant yellow bananas, vivid oranges, and several other much more exotic fruits were placed under her nose.

Hermione smiled timidly, aware of the gazes of all of the warriors in the room, and reached forward, humbly selecting a grape and eating it slowly in her mouth. Sweet juice oozed into her mouth as her teeth broke through the outer layer of the grape.

"It's delicious," Hermione offered to an expectant Ginny, whose lips broke into a happy grin. Blaise chuckled again as he settled back against the wall, and Daphne, in the dark corner, scoffed at them.

Draco Malfoy suddenly strolled in, his head of white-blonde hair apparent and easily catching eyes. Everyone in the room immediately stood up, bowing their heads slightly and murmuring "Master" in respect.

"Blaise," Draco spun around to face him, his silver eyes seeming to spark dangerously. Hermione shifted uneasily, finding it strange for him to suddenly reveal such emotions openly. Her eyes flickered towards Blaise, who immediately looked up at his best friend.

"Blaise, he's on the move again," Draco hissed rapidly. "We need a plan to protect the people of the Northern Regions… I'm not sure if we can prevent him. However, make shields and defenses with both magic and muggle methods."

The dark man nodded.

"Daphne," the leader addressed the sharp-tongued girl in the corner. "Make the evacuation plans for the women and children. The men will stay and fight. Make the path foolproof: the women and children are targets of weakness. Theo, help her with those plans."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

"Ginny and Cedric," Draco turned to face the two. "Prepare a temporary stay for the people."

"Yes, sir."

Draco nodded once, massaging his temple as he paced around the room.

"Excuse me," Hermione said softly, cursing her curiosity for making her speak. "Who is this… man?"

Everyone turned to stare at her with mixed emotions.

Draco raised a blonde eyebrow at her and began to walk towards her, finally stopping and then lowering himself so that he could stare at her evenly in the eyes. "Have you ever heard of Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

Hermione shook her head.

"How about Lord Voldemort?"

It was nearly comical as Hermione's eyes widened into large, circular amber orbs as she stared in horror. "You-Know-Who?"

He lowered his voice so that it was nearly only a murmur. "He is one of the most formidable opponents of ours out of the years we have fought and protected. In the Night Mockers' history, we have only failed twice. Once, against a magnificent God of the ancient times who has misused his powers, and another, against a shape-shifting magician. Both times were aided by other secret collaborations, and in the end, we still won. This time…" Draco straightened up, his grey eyes narrowing. "I fear that our new opponent is stronger than anything we have ever faced."

"And what… what should I do to help?" Hermione whispered, her face paler than usual but with the same determined expression.

"You are brave," Draco said slowly, "but you are not trained. Stay here and wait for us to return, and do not be foolish: you cannot escape nor harm anything here."

Hermione bristled indignantly. "I want to fight! I cannot stand aside and simply let people die just as last time!"

Draco shook his head, his expression making it clear that he would not change his mind. "Some other time."

**Author's Notes: **Yes, I finally updated! I hope you like this chappie… It took a very long time! **Please review!**


	4. A Traitorous Tear

**Disclaimer: **This last disclaimer goes on for the entire story. I do not own 'Harry Potter'. No copyright infringement intended. All rights go to the true owner.

**Author's Notes: **Look at me, I'm updating! Amazing! Anyhow, my high school application process is done (yay!) so I'll have more time to write. If you are a dark story and Tomione fan, I've written a new story called 'Velvet Roses', if you'd care to read that. So here's chapter four, and I hope you enjoy! Please review!

_Reviewers: sNAPpyDraGon, laurelley, starlight-x-A-x, martshi3, undaniably Ainsane Nerd, mekom, vswimming12, LilyRousseau, Shyrazie, Cedarchip, messy-hair-day, smileylol, Bobthestar, azulaiii _

Shout out to _starlight-x-A-x: _Thank you for reviewing! They are probably around what people know as seventh year (despite the fact that they are not at school). Draco, unlike in J.K. Rowling's books, is definitely older than Hermione, if not only just a year or two. Hermione is only slightly younger than everyone else, but compared to the experienced Night Mockers, she is a lot more naïve that in the books. I hope that answered your question!

O

Hermione hissed in distaste as she stalked through the damp, dark tunnels. After composing herself in front of an audience of Night Mockers, she had vented her frustration on the wall, kicking and pummeling it mercilessly. Frankly, choosing the wall as her opponent had done her no good, and her fists were now dry and cracked, as if crying blood, and her leg was bruised.

She was going to fight, no matter what Draco Malfoy told her to do. How could she simply stand aside and watch innocents die? She may not be as experienced as the Night Mockers, but she was still an exceptionally good witch and could certainly lend a hand in battle. More than once, Harry and Ron had needed her help and skill in magic.

Of course there would be consequences that would accompany disobeying her 'orders'. Hermione was, after all, a logical person. But when pride and nobility came in, it overwhelmed her logical mind. She had to help the weak. Why else had she supported the common house-elf's rights, despite that it was utterly unladylike?

And yet, another prospect that concerned the young heiress of the Granger household was how to escape.

If she had known how to escape, she would've left by now. She would've gone back to the safety of her family and friends, embracing them lovingly. The Night Mockers certainly would not make it easy for her to leave.

There was a bright light ahead, glowing and shining so brightly that Hermione had to squint her eyes in discomfort. It shone magnificently: piercing through the thin layers of 'paper shutters' and blinding her nevertheless.

Abruptly, a silhouette cut through Hermione's vision and the steady flame of light. The radiance behind the figure was so bright that she couldn't determine the expression or the facial features of the said person, only spotting a flash of green and shadows.

"_Lady _Granger," the person sneered loftily, shifting her weight onto one leg and placing a slender arm on her hip.

At once, the once-unknown person was suddenly clear. Who else treated her with such disdain?

"Miss Daphne," Hermione answered curtly, rearranging her expression into one of cold politeness. Out of all of the people, she feared and disliked Daphne the most. Daphne was closed and cold: a person in which she had no knowledge of. Like most humans, she feared what she did not know of. Daphne certainly qualified.

Daphne gave her a cold smirk. "Master told me to inform you that you can't run. There's no exit, and you'll only be walking around in circles. _Good day."_ She shouldered her way past Hermione, elbowing her rudely before stalking away, her chin raised.

Hermione clenched her fists, wanting to run after the girl and punch her. It didn't matter that Daphne would probably twist her arm and break her leg with the experience that she had. She was just so… infuriated with her. Daphne had purposely taunted her: Draco probably had told her no such thing. The Greengrass knew that Hermione wanted out.

Taking several deep breaths, Hermione walked towards the source of light. It revealed a thundering waterfall that fell at great heights, the water turning different colors as it fell from the top. She felt droplets of water peck at her skin, and when she reached her hand forward cautiously, a spray of natural water coating her palm and fingers.

The water collided with a jarring impact as it landed at the bottom, creating enormous waves before it calmed down once it was out of the waterfall's perimeter. It traveled downwards, little ripples appearing as the layers of stone slabs coaxed it towards the desired location.

"We leave now," a strong, male voice interrupted her sightseeing. She instinctually hid behind a boulder, crouching down before cautiously peering out at the group of people. Draco was standing in front of a semi-circle of Night Mockers, whom were all listening intently.

"Master," Ginny said. "Cedric and I should leave now to prepare the temporary shelter. We leave first?"

Draco nodded half-heartedly, snapping his fingers in response. The two disappeared, barely making a noise as their figures faded from sight. Daphne and Theo disappeared next, and finally, all that was left was Blaise and Draco.

"Hey, Draco?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. She hadn't heard anyone address Draco Malfoy in such a casual way… They really were friends, she supposed.

"Yeah?"

"I know you're worried about her," Blaise mused. "Hermione Granger, I mean. But surely, she can't leave here. She won't suicide, as far as I can see. So let's go."

"Worried, Blaise? When did you become an expert on reading me?"

Blaise snorted. "Since I grew up with you. It's obvious that she's someone that you're hopeful about. With that sort of determination, she's bound to become one of us."

Silence.

"Come on, Drake," she heard Blaise thump him in the back, making her cringe. "She's no pampered princess despite her royal blood. Besides, with a temper that rivals Ginny's own fiery tendency to anger, she'll fit in perfectly."

Hermione could see Lord Malfoy's eyes glint with amusement as he turned to face his friend. "You speak of Ginevra with such… familiarity." _Sneaky change of subject._

Blaise's face filled with blood, his dark skin only hiding it somewhat. "We're all familiar around here," he protested, looking away from his leader. "I'm quite close with everyone, actually. They can't resist this charm."

"Is that so, Blaise?" Draco countered. A smirk worked its way to his mouth. "Whatever you say… If, by chance, you need my help with your nonexistent relationship with her, all you need to do is ask. You may go now."

Blaise sputtered wordlessly before composing himself and disappearing, still glaring at the pale figure of Draco Malfoy as his figure faded into air.

Hermione peeked out, watching Draco walking towards the waterfall, looking like he was in deep thought. His face was serene and calm, but his grey eyes seem to show otherwise. They almost looked as if in pain, and her eyes wandered to his clenched fist at his side. Surely it was not because of something Blaise said?

Colors began to rise from the ground and spiral upwards, and Hermione remembered this way of apparition from the day she got captured. This time, the silver shards reflected the gold and colors from the waterfall, sparkling and shimmering as it began to whirl faster and faster.

_Now was her chance. _

Hermione suddenly lunged forward. It was a spur of the moment decision, something that she would've reconsidered if it had been otherwise. Her hand reached forward to grab his clenched fist, fighting against the sharp cracks of glass-like substance. When her hand closed around his hand, Draco immediately whirled around, his grey eyes wide and astonished.

He was about to shake her hand off, but to no avail. Their forms were connected, glowing and shining, and they were both beginning to flicker as if only an image. Hermione couldn't make out the words that he was saying as he mouthed something furiously at her.

His silver eyes flashed angrily, but at the same time, Hermione could see a tiny bit of admiration in those molten steel depths.

They disappeared silently, leaving nothing but a wisp of a feather.

O

"Hermione." He pronounced her name slowly, articulately, and his voice was devoid of emotion as his grey eyes stared at her.

Hermione shuddered slightly, bowing her head. Her wild hair covered her eyes and was a curtain that blocked her eyes from his penetrating gaze.

"That was extremely foolish of you." Draco knelt down so that he was at the same level as she was, and he lightly brushed away her hair, his blond eyebrows pushed together. He inspected his pale skin, staring at the contrast between her darker skin tone and his nearly white one.

Hermione held her breath and waited for her verdict.

"But, nevertheless, it was brave. It's… admirable."

Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked up at him, her jaw dropping slightly. "I… I don't know what to say," she said lamely, peering at him. "I just… I couldn't _bear _for innocents to simply die while I stood in a ring of protection. When I saw you leaving, I just… I took the chance, and I…"

Hermione looked around, noticing the colder temperatures (she was shivering) and the thick forest that surrounded them. The trees towered over their two figures, dwarfing even Draco Malfoy. They casted eerie shadows, making Hermione feel childishly afraid of the monstrous figures that formed.

"I… _where _are we?" Hermione whispered, lowering her voice as if afraid to awaken a terrifying creatures that lurked in the darkness.

Draco chuckled softly, an amused sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We are in Rondane National Park, Norway. See that mountain over there? That's Rondeslottet, the highest mountain in the Rondane mountain range."

Hermione turned to stare at the mountain, gasping as the peak came into view. She unconsciously walked towards it, and soon, the shelter of the trees disappeared, leaving the two exposed. By her feet was soft moss, and just in front of her were humongous slabs of stone and rock. The land was shaded all different colors of green: jaded green, emerald green, yellow green–– and the sky was a beautiful cerulean blue, cirrus clouds drifting over head, it's feathery ends hooked.

"It is quite beautiful, is it not?" Draco commented lightly, startling her. His voice was strangely bitter, as if something had gone wrong in this beautiful land.

"Yes," Hermione breathed. "But why Norway? Do they not have their own Ministry of Magic?"

"Of course. But Night Mockers are not limited to the perimeters of England. We help everyone, in this hemisphere or not. Lord Voldemort is attacking a nearby town tonight."

Hermione nodded, understanding, and raised a hand to brush away a wisp of hair that had gotten in her way, and then gasped when she saw the crimson blood drying on the palm of her hand. Inspecting it, though aware that she was under his scrutinizing gaze, she realized that she felt no pain and that there was no gash that the blood could've leaked through.

Holding her breath, Hermione looked up, remembering how she had lunged forward and grabbed his clenched fists. Her eyes slid down to his hand: nail marks where his fingers had dug into his palm were visible, and blood was oozing steadily out of the injury.

"S-Sir…" Hermione stuttered, eyes fixated on his wounded hand, the blood bright compared to his alabaster skin. "Your hand."

Draco raised his eyebrow before holding up his hand, inspecting it casually. The sunlight caused for the blood to glint slightly, and his arm fell limp as he glanced back at her. "Yes?"

"I just…" she trailed off, trying to find a way to ask him without prying. It was obvious that he had clenched his fist so hard that it had caused for his skin to break. Somehow, seeing his blood made him seem less… immortal. His beauty was so perfect and god-like that he seemed so unreal and unable to be defeated. Seeing his own blood on his hands made him mortal: it proved that he had blood pumping in his veins and that there was a challenge that even he could not master –– Death.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I am just curious… I saw you standing in front of the waterfall before you disappeared and I… grabbed on to you. You seemed… angry. Angry and sad."

His silver eyes were suddenly unreadable as he gazed at her. There seemed to be layers and layers of shields and protection that blocked her access to read his mind and feelings. "Angry and sad."

She nodded slowly.

"Angry and sad," Draco repeated, sounding colder than before. He turned around and walked towards the edge of the cliff. The man stood so close to the edge that, for a split second, Hermione feared that he was going to jump and plunge downwards to his death. But he did not such thing, and instead, he stood there, unmoving and frozen.

Draco looked like a statue of a god that protected all of the land below. His silver eyes were mysterious and unmoving, yet they were full of power that was sizzling with intensity. His skin was pale and immaculate, save for a bright red gash down his right cheek. The white blond crown of hair above his head glowed and shone like stars around his head.

"Please… If there is anything that is bothering you… If I could… If you wanted to…" Hermione struggled to find a way to properly word her sentence. "I was just wondering if there was something wrong."

The leader of the Night Mockers cocked his head to one side and turned slightly to face her. "Yes."

There were beats of silence, as if he didn't want to keep on speaking or explain his curt answer. Hermione waited on a bated breath, her curiosity at its peak.

"My father," Draco said quietly. "He was a respectable man. He was my mentor and taught me how to lead the Night Mockers. He spoke of justice and power, all at the same time. Lucius Malfoy. I will never forget Father. I will never forget the part of him that cared and was admired and venerated. But I have already forgotten his smile. I don't remember when his grey eyes were warm with approval. No, not anymore.

"Narcissa Black married Lucius Malfoy when she was a young woman. My mother was beautiful and intelligent, and the two loved each other. I loved my mother and my father. My mother used to whisper stories of dragons and warriors when I was younger, and I would fall asleep to her soft voice.

"They saved lives together, my mother and father. With the rest of the Night Mockers, they fought against enemies and saved people countless times. But, apparently, silent glory was not enough for one of the Night Mockers. Antonin Dolohov, a power-hungry and cunning man, spoke with my father quietly. He wanted to rule the world. I remember listening from outside the room: _'Master… I can help you rise to become a powerful Lord. This magic–– the Dark Arts… it is not unjust. It is meant only for people who can control it… Can you, Lucius? Are you meant to be a Lord? …Together, we could rule the world.'_

"I didn't think that my father would accept such an offer. But he was a proud man, and being incompetent to do something would wound his ego. He fell straight into clever Dolohov's carefully laid out trap. Lucius meant only to control the Dark Arts, not use it. He still believed in the common good.

"But the Dark Arts… they are alluring and addictive. Slowly, my father couldn't resist the lure of the power that the Dark could offer. He began falling into its arms, becoming more merciless and vile every day. My mother noticed a change in him within a week. She quickly found the dark books that were scattered around his desk and study, and immediately, she demanded for him to stop using the Dark Arts.

"As I said, my father loved my mother. Narcissa was everything to him. So, because of his love for her, he stopped and resisted the urge.

"This was not enough for Antonin Dolohov. No, he wanted the power. Lucius would gain it for him, and he would use it. _Him, _the king of the world!" Draco spat this out bitterly. "Of course: use the leader of the Night Mockers. It would work. Only my mother was standing in his way. What could he do to get rid of my mother? Dolohov devised a plan. It was sly and perfect: no one would ever suspect that he killed my mother."

Hermione gasped silently, her hand flying to her mouth. She stumbled back slightly, doe eyes wide with shock. "He… he _killed…" _

"Yes," Draco turned around, his silver eyes furiously blazing. "_Antonin Dolohov killed my mother." _He pointed at the land before them. "He killed her right there, letting her drown in the river and become ripped apart by the sharp rocks so that there would be no body to recover for Lucius. Norway was such a beautiful place before, wasn't it? If only it didn't hide such dark secrets."

Hermione placed a hand over her mouth, pressing down hard. She couldn't believe that a man would do such a thing. Who would be _that _cruel…? Dolohov was just like You-Know-Who. They disgusted her, both of them. Power-hungry, insane, heartless maniacs.

She studied Draco's expression carefully. She saw the heartbreaking look of sadness crush all of the shields of protection that he had placed over his heart and soul. One tear, one traitorous tear, slid out of those painfully tragic eyes.

"My mother," he whispered. "She died innocent. She…" he looked away, putting his head in his hands. "Dolohov told Lucius that Narcissa had betrayed the Night Mockers by going on the other side with Lord Voldemort. When my father asked him who killed Narcissa, Dolohov had pointed at _me. _Of course, he wanted no other people to interfere with his plan to rule the world. Only my mother and I could truly change my father, and if both of us were out of the way…

"My father was furious with both of us. He was furious at my mother for 'betraying' us. Lucius shouted and cursed her in his room for weeks, banging on the wall. He didn't eat or drink. Sometimes, we'd hear crashes and shattering of glass. I heard him utter his first dark spell on the last day.

"Lucius came out of the room in a mess. But he was shouting for me. He said: '_Draco Malfoy, you come here right now!' _I remember my father grabbing my collar and hoisting me up into the air, shrieking at me with undecipherable words. But in the end, I understood. He blamed me for killing mother. He said that if I hadn't killed her, he could've gotten her back. He could've changed her thinking, and Narcissa would still be here.

"I was angry. How could he believe such deceitful words that Dolohov spoke? I argued. I said that I was innocent, that mother was innocent. But he wouldn't listen. Dolohov held such a high and honorable position in his mind, and it was my word against his. Lucius shouted at me. Words turned into beatings, and beatings turned into slashes. Slashes finally turned into dark curses.

"This scar," Draco pointed to the red slash across his otherwise perfect face. "It was the last dark curse. They couldn't remove it. It wouldn't heal at first, and I bled for an entire night before Adelaide Greengrass, Daphne's mother, finally found an antidote. But the scar itself wouldn't heal.

"Dolohov was ecstatic. His plan was working perfectly. My mother was dead, and my father hated me. Wanting to boast his victory to me, he said to my father: 'In fact, your boy, Draco, also betrayed us. He went to Lord Voldemort as well, just like Narcissa.'

"That was when he made his mistake. When Lucius asked him why I would attack my mother if both of us were on the same side, Dolohov was speechless. He recklessly spun off a story, a story with too many contradictions to count, and my father finally used Legilimency on him. When Lucius discovered the truth, he was shocked.

"He killed Antonin Dolohov, but not after he tortured him mercilessly. He used every Dark spell in his inventory. It wasn't until Dolohov was already begging for death that Lucius stopped. But he didn't end it. He walked away, and no one dared to stop him. He left here, and we never saw Lucius Malfoy again.

"Antonin Dolohov died, bleeding his life out on the floor. But before he died, he saw me, and he managed to sneer. He began laughing, blood vomiting out of his mouth. I saw the life leave his eyes. But he wouldn't stop laughing until his very last, choked breath.

"I knew why. He had won. Even though he died and never became a Dark Lord, he still won. My mother was dead, and my father wasn't ever going to come back. I was alone, young and immature, and had no instruction as to how to rule the Night Mockers. _I was alone, and yet, I still am." _

**Author's Notes: **Well, that was a hard chapter to write. Many of you were curious about Draco's past, and so here it is! I hope it made sense… Tell me your thoughts about it, please!


	5. Blood is Spilt

**Author's Notes: **Oh, yes, I'm updating (: I will try my hardest to not give up on this fanfiction, despite how slowly I'll be updating this one. Sorry for the long wait… I took an unannounced break for the last couple of months. Please do review: it would make me incredibly happy and more motivated!

_Reviewers: martshi3, HPmadness12, YesThatsme, SaaamForLife, sNAPpyDraGon, smileylol, Shyrazie, LooLoo Lightwood, TimeRose, Cedarchip, mindy.18, readme2023, Edward-is-sexier-than-Mike, DaOnLeeSam, azulaiii, 4SnowWolf, Dark Warrior, penny lupin, Somebody _

O

"_I was alone, and yet, I still am."_

Hermione sat in silence, unbeknownst to the tears that were streaming freely down her face and coating her skin with sparkling salt water. She saw Draco's eyes fill with pain and vulnerable hurt for a just a single moment before they were masked, replaced with a blank, detached stare. She had once thought that his eyes were beautiful, a fascinating blend of mercurial silver and stormy grey, but now that she had seen his eyes open to her, painted with emotion, she couldn't see the specialty of them before.

His eyes, when filled with any sort of emotion, were haunting yet enthralling. There were suddenly so many more shades and depths to his soul, making him so much more complex. Like an intricate spider's web, it gleamed and shimmered in the darkness and its detail made a strange and otherworldly beauty.

Now, Draco's eyes were blank and flat. She could still spot the elegant swirl of colors in his eyes, but it wasn't the same. It just wasn't the same.

"I…" Hermione whispered, at loss as to what to say to him. She considered sympathy, considered saying 'I'm sorry', but she didn't. The proud leader of the Night Mockers didn't need sympathy; he didn't want to feel pitied or weak: Draco was already strong enough on his own. So what to say?

"I don't think that you're alone," Hermione said softly, daring to reach forward and lightly take his hand. She noticed how the blood stained her and his skin, bright red against pale white, and was reminded abruptly of Snow White, a beauty with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood.

"I don't think that you're alone," she repeated. "You have a family: the Night Mockers. Blaise… he cares for you a great deal. He speaks of you like a brother that he never had. And the rest of them… you're not just their master to them. You are the older brother, the one who can lead the way, someone they can trust."

Draco's piercing stare perforated her very being, the flash of emotion that she found herself hungering to see more of appearing once again. It wasn't that she wanted to see him sad–– no, it was quite the opposite–– but the little peeks of emotion were like stars in the dark blanket of night–– hopeful and bright.

Hermione examined his bloodied hand and whispered softly, as if speaking to a small, wounded child: "Come, let's wash your hand in the river. We don't want the blood to stain."

The leader of the Night Mockers allowed himself to be pulled by the lady, and they carefully worked their way down the steep hill. For once, Hermione found comfort in the shorter and more revealing clothes that the Night Mockers preferred. They were much easier to maneuver in, and if she were still wearing those long, ballroom gowns, she surely would've tripped by now.

When the trickles and splashes of water became clearer and light mists hit their faces, Hermione delicately took his wrists and began washing away the blood, working steadily and making sure that she wasn't hurting him. The water was frosty against her skin, but she was determined to prove that she was stronger than some mindless female who was nothing but a trophy wife.

The blood was stubborn to stick to his pale skin, but it came off eventually, with five minutes of continuous scrubbing. When she finished, she tore off a piece of fabric from her dress, wincing when she heard the fabric tear (it really was a beautiful dress) and gingerly wrapped it around his hand.

Hermione felt a blush grace her cheeks as she finally dared to look back up at him. She hadn't realized how _intimate _it was for her to be cleaning his wound… it was, after all, a wife's duty, and she…

Hermione looked away from him, cheeks flaming. She heard him chuckle, and could hear the rustle of clothing as he stood up. As she made to follow his actions, she saw his outstretched arm, and, after quickly glancing up at him, she took his hand, pulling herself into a standing position.

"Thank you," she murmured, brushing off invisible lint from her dress.

Lord Malfoy just nodded in answer. "I must go to the village, now; Tom Riddle is bound to attack in ten minutes time. Miss Granger… Do wait here for my return."

"Nonsense!" Hermione snapped quickly, which caused him to raise a blonde eyebrow at her. "I refuse to be left behind, _once again." _

"Lady––"

"Don't 'Lady' me! I am going, and that is that!" Hermione snapped again, blushing when silence greeted her sharp words. "I… I apologize for… I…"

Lord Malfoy smiled ever so slightly, and she nearly stumbled when she saw how wonderful he looked when he smiled. "Do not apologize for being yourself," Malfoy said, walking towards a random dirty football that lay a couple of feet away. "Grab the football on three?"

Hermione blinked. "Is that… is that a port key?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. It is an unregistered one that was created by Zabini. We're running short on time; we must leave now." The previous glimpse of openness and warmth disappeared from his expression, his usual authority taking over.

Hermione felt the personal connection between them melt, and immediately felt uncomfortable and shy around him once again. She nodded, already missing what had gone on between them, and, on his count of three, grabbed the port key and was transported away from the large mountains.

O

They arrived in a heavily covered forest, and Hermione could hear screams and see flashes of light appear from a couple of meters away. Her eyes widened and turned to stare at the leader of the Night Mockers. Something was completely wrong.

Draco's eyes were stormy and furious, and, with a snap, her wand appeared in his hand, and he handed it to her roughly. Hermione grasped her wand with familiarity, a rush of warmth entering her body, before running after Malfoy towards the village.

The cobblestones were slick with blood, and the wooden buildings that stood on the sides of the narrow streets were damp and collapsing. People ran around screaming, shouting spells and screaming for fellow friends and families members that were separated or injured. It was chaos.

Draco narrowed his eyes and put a simple black mask over his face before slipping into the crowd, blending in easily and slyly killing off a couple of Death Eaters without people noticing the source.

Hermione bit her lip and looked around. She rushed in, brandishing her wand and flicking it in complex patterns that she had learned long ago and knocked down many of the people in black cloaks and metal masks. She dared not kill anyone –– she hadn't learned any fatal spells–– but she stunned and disarmed many people.

The fight went on for the longest time. An hour past, and soon, two hours, going on to three. Hermione's arm hurt from casting spell after spell, and she was sweating from exertion, exhausted, but unable to tear away from the fight. She saw no other woman fighting except for her, Daphne, and Ginny…

Suddenly, she found herself surrounded by three men. They were all cloaked, all wearing the same attire, and they were all advancing on her.

"Well, well, what do we have here? A nice little lady she is, isn't she, Mulciber?" one man, the tallest, leered.

The one named Mulciber laughed, his laugh was an ugly sound, and Hermione flinched, holding up her wand like a sword. "Let's get her, gentlemen. Let's catch the pretty little birdie." The men all chuckled drunkenly and rushed at her, wands waving, mouths opening to say their desired spells…

Hermione immediately spun around, aimed at the tallest Death Eater, and stunned him, ducking from another spell and quickly pulling up a shield in front of her. However, the shield didn't last long, and it cracked under the two dark spells combined together. She stumbled back, hands shaking, and tried to run.

But the men were faster.

Mulciber grabbed her arms and lifted her off the ground, as short as she was, laughing boisterously when she began kicking at the air and struggling against his grimy but strong arms.

"The little lady has been caught, Rosier! The little lady––"

Mulciber's arms suddenly disappeared, and Hermione, with no restraints around her arms any longer, whirled around, wand pointed forward.

Mulciber lay dead on the ground, a sword impaled in his back. Blood dribbled down his chin and into the hollow of his throat, and his eyes were glassy, unseeing. The other man, named Rosier, was bound and under the effects of _silencio. _

Hermione gasped, hand at her throat, and looked up to see Lord Malfoy standing over Mulciber's corpse. In one swift move, he yanked out the bloodied sword and cleaned it with a quick, wandless spell. His grey eyes were unreadable and distant.

"Master––" Zabini said from behind Draco, but was then silenced by his master's raised hand.

"We're go back," Draco said quietly, "right now. Everyone has run. No questions. _Go." _

The rest of the Night Mockers complied quickly, the dark expression on their master's face clear that he didn't want to deal with any arguments right then.

Silently, Malfoy took Hermione's arm and 'disapparated' in the special way that Night Mockers did, the lingering picture of the deserted and silent village forever painted in Hermione's mind.

O

Lord Malfoy stood facing the wall, candles flickering and creating eerie shadows on his face. The Night Mockers stood in a loose semi-circle behind him, silent and glancing at each other once in a while.

"Master––" Ginny Weasley began to say.

Draco shook his head, making her fall silent. He turned around slowly, eyes troubled and suspicious.

"We have been betrayed," he hissed. The Night Mockers shifted uncomfortably, looking amongst each other, wondering if the traitor was among them.

"It's obvious, Master," Daphne Greengrass stepped forward, eyes glaring at Hermione. Her eyes burnt with loathing, and her lips curled into a sneer as she glowered at the girl. "We've had no problem with loyalty before–– each and every one of us are part of this family. Now, _she _comes here," she pointed at Hermione accusingly, "and we face a problem of being betrayed. _Someone _must've alerted You-Know-Who of our plans, and he arrived there before time."

"But Miss Granger couldn't have alerted them," Blaise interrupted, rolling his eyes at Daphne. "She can't connect to the outside world from here–– she can't leave and she can't communicate with anyone."

Daphne narrowed her multi-colored eyes at him. "And _how exactly _did she get to Norway?"

"She came with me," Draco said quietly. "You, of all people, should not point fingers at a person just because you do not like the person, Daphne."

Daphne glowered at the floor. However, something that Malfoy had said must've meant something to her, because she fell silent.

"Someone," Draco went on, "must've alerted them in some way. Blaise, I trust you to double the wards around this place: if they have a spy, the spy must be kept out. The rest of you," he gazed at the Night Mockers, "if I find one thing wrong with you, you will rue the day you decided to mess with me."

**Author's Notes: **I know, I know, it's a really short chapter. But I didn't want to delay this chapter any longer (seeing as I hadn't updated in months) so I just posted it once I found a good ending point. I hope it wasn't too crappy.


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